


A Gown Of Gold, A Bed Of Red

by SoHereWeAre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Brother/Sister Incest, Children of Characters, Coitus Interruptus, Complicated Relationships, Conspiracy, Cunnilingus, Don't worry it's Joffrey's death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings Realization, Forbidden Love, Humiliation, Impotence, Incest, Jealousy, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Joffrey Is Thankfully Impotent, Kingsguard, Kingsguard Robb, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Making Love, Mind Games, Minor Character Death, Political Alliances, Queen Sansa, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Tension, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Vaginal Sex, kingslayer, sadistic behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: Sansa is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but unfortunately Joffrey is her husband and King. Robb has been forced under obligation to join the Kingsguard as part of the agreement to spare Eddard Stark's life and adding insult to injury, Joff appoints him to stand guard at the Queen's solar while the King exercises his martial rights.However, one night Joffrey demands that Robb enters the Queen's solar, and Robb learns a terrible and damaging secret that both he and Sansa are ordered to hide from the Kingdom.(Repost)





	1. Cloak Of White

Ser Robb Stark hates all of the Lannisters and one particular Baratheon.

It permeates his whole being and overwhelms on these evenings when he stands in front of the Queen's bedroom door, as still as any of the looming gold lion statues scattered so ostentatiously throughout the Red Keep. He always hopes for a reprieve but there is none as his stomach coils into knots, his hand gripping his sheathed sword so tightly that his hand grows numb after only a few minutes as he lets his hatred fester under a placid expression of servitude. 

He hates with a seething passion poorly concealed under his Kingsguard armor and cape. He hates the polished gold and the lions etched on his white cloak. He hates what he was forced to become as part of an agreement for Eddard Stark to return to Winterfell with his head intact; banished, disgraced, powerless, but avoiding the Wall. He hates King's Landing with all its riches and gaudy surroundings. He hates that his skill and excellence in sword fighting has the rest of the Kingsguard admiring him; he didn't want adoration from soliders loyal to the Crown.

It wasn't the loss of being the heir to Winterfell or even the vow to have no wife or child that he loathed so greatly. It wasn't even being a royal bodyguard for that little prick Joffrey. 

King Joffrey Baratheon would never be his king, no matter how much he was obligated to bow before him and called him Your Grace. No matter how he was sworn to protect the little tyrant and his family he would not recognize the prick's title in his heart of hearts. He would do his duty as he was taught by his father to do even though he knew that if ever there was a chance Joff was in danger and there was a moment where no one was looking, Robb would allow a terrible fate to befall the golden-haired worm. 

Yet he could bear all of what he took a vow to do if it were not for the fact that Joffrey was also now his brother-in-law.

The wedding and the feast that had followed had been a grand affair and no expense was spared. Everyone had been in a celebratory mood after drinking freely of the Dorish wine that flowed so affluently at every table with the exception of himself. All he could do was stand back behind the wedding table near Joffrey's left side, half-hidden in the shadows of the makeshift canopy of offending red and gold silks, while discreetly studying his sister's reactions from her new Queen's chair, seated to the right of her new husband. She matched him in her gown of gold, rubies glittering and woven into her intricately coiffed auburn hair. Sansa was beautiful, stunning, and if she was unhappy with the arrangement he had not seen it in her lovely smile and ladylike graces; but he knew better at the traces of shadows in her eyes. He had tried not to think of the night ahead and wanted to drink to momentarily forget, but Ser Jaime had broken the news to him that the King demanded Robb be the one to stand guard at the Queen's rooms on their wedding night...and every night thereafter.

There was something in the Kingslayer's eyes when he spoke to him in an oddly gentle voice, warning that the duty of the Kingsguard was to protect the King above all others. To interfere in the King's private matters when not called upon was enough to warrant dismissal at the best and thrown into the dungeons for disobedience or executed at the worst. He was at the King's service and the King's whims, and he would do best to remember that House Stark was in an extremely tenuous position.

Robb was smart enough to understand a single act of insubordination would mean dire consequences to his already damaged family, and perhaps severe punishment to Sansa herself. She was Queen now; her dreams of being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was now a realization, but the costs have been high and the rewards were double-edged.  
Now, several weeks into the royal marriage and Robb cannot grow used to what he suspects goes on behind the closed and locked door. He can hear very little but what he does hear makes his stomach drop and blood boil. A crash here, a thump there. Sometimes the sound is up against the door and sometimes he thinks he hears a slap or a cry and his heart tears apart. Sometimes (well, more often than not, really), Joffrey leaves the solar wrapped in his robes, his blonde locks a mess with a look of disgust on his face. He thinks he can hear Sansa's muffled crying but he dares not look inside; instead, he is always commanded to follow the King as he makes his way down the hall to his separate sleeping quarters and Robb can do nothing but fall in line.

Not a moment goes by that he doesn't think of stealing down the hall but knows if he is caught leaving his post to tend to the Queen without orders, it would be Sansa who suffers for his desertion. It makes no difference anyway because the next day Robb's eyes always manage to inspect Sansa, and from her red-rimmed eyes to the fresh bruises on her delicate wrists, and he angrily surmises that Joffrey was abusing her. Forcing himself on her. No one in King's Landing would dare to voice any suspicions. After all, it was a man's right to use his wife and a King was even more so untouchable when it came to sexual violence. He could rape, maim, kill Sansa and he would remain guilt-free.

Sansa. Lovely, proper Sansa, who had been dreaming all her life of her sweet Prince. His delicate, sweet sister who loved to be loved. Sansa, who always adored him as her prince when they played but abandoned him as the object of her desire in favor of someone who was no handsome prince of her dreams at all.

The few times he was able to corner her alone and attempt to talk about her situation, he was met with a soft plea to not interfere. Sansa's voice held a pleading tone while she told him that she was stronger than he knew and she was learning how to handle Joffrey. It was a lie; her voice wavered and her hands shook when he held them and he knew she was terrified but there was no reassurance that he could provide for her. Over the past few weeks her blue eyes dulled and her smile became small and tight. She remembered her courtesies and to everyone else she was the gracious young Queen everyone would grow to love, but to Robb he saw nothing but a developing shell, an emerging of a ghost of who she had been as a girl at Winterfell. He missed her little peals of laughter, missed her pretty smiles, missed the sparkle of her deep blue eyes. He missed his sweet sister. The hollow Queen before his eyes was a stranger to him.

There had to be a way out. This could not be their life forever. He would not allow it. 

Robb shifted uncomfortably at his post, looking straight ahead, his nerves tight with dread. There were no sounds from the room yet, thankfully, so perhaps Joffrey would not take his rights. Maybe he would leave Sansa untouched, maybe this one night she would not be left alone and crying softly, thinking no one could hear her. He knew Sansa could not live like this and survive for long. Or could she? This misery bestowed upon her could have one positive end: a pregnancy. A babe might be a welcomed thing to her. She always wanted to have children of her own. Though Gods forbid she gave Joffrey a girl as the firstborn. Robb shuddered to think what kind of beating she would receive for that.

He was startled when the solar door swung open and the blonde-haired psychopath stuck his head out, looking from left to right before settling his cold green-eyed gaze on him. Robb turned and bowed, expecting him to step out and storm off to his own rooms, but he did not. Instead, a small smirk spread on his wormy looking lips and his eyes narrowed. He looked more like Cersei in that moment; another Lannister he passionately hated. All the little bastard needed was a wine cup in his hand.

"Ser Robb, your King requests your presence in the Queen's solar. Immediately."

Confused, Robb stood rooted, and without thinking asked him why in a cracked tone.

"Did you not just hear my command? Get in here now!" Joff's voice hitched high and angry so Robb swiftly entered the room, worried that the King would take his quick anger out on his sister. No sooner did he step inside that Joffrey was close beside him, stripping him of his sword and taking it into his own cruel hands. It was almost as if he knew that night after night, all Robb dreamed of was a day where he could run his sword through his puny chest.

Robb's eyes glanced from Joff to Sansa and he swallowed hard.

She was sitting meekly in a high-backed chair with red velvet padding and scrolled woodwork that swept up into lion's bodies above her head. She wore a night gown of simple gold, thankfully nothing too revealing, and was clutching the v-neck in between her collarbone. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, simple and free. He recalls a time where he would playfully tug those long locks, then twirl the strands around his fingers, loving the way the tresses felt like the finest of silks. It was a change from always seeing her in the ridiculously complicated southern styles that he hated. Hated because she was of the North, like him, and she had no business being trussed up like a Southron.

Her eyes fluttered up and widened in surprise for a moment but then lowered down to her hand as Joff slammed the door behind him and locked it before marching up beside Robb, the sword clutched tightly in his fist. Robb dared not look upon Sansa for long so he decided to stare into Joff's already ruddy, frustrated face.

"Your Grace?" Robb felt uneasy, standing next to the King who was obviously in nothing but a robe and an agitated state. There was a glint in his eyes that he did not care for and his mouth was twisted almost in a sneer as he barked out his words, his hand flexing on the pommel of Robb's sword.

"You will do as I command and you do not ask questions. I am your _King_. Get undressed."


	2. A Dangerous Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because several readers wanted it... I am continuing on! Sorry for the delay - a lot of IRL things happening, plus I wanted to write this scene exactly to my liking, which I am satisfied with the way it turned out. Thank you for your patience... this fic might have more chapters on the way!  
> (Not proof-read, it's almost midnight and I'm dead tired).  
> Thank you for reading and commenting! Because of it I added this chapter and I appreciate all of you.

Sansa remembers her foolish dreams of marrying her golden prince, living as his Queen and bearing sons as heirs to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. There was a time where she was giddy and flushed at her sweet prince's presence, disarmed by his overly wide smile and grandiose gestures of kissing her hand. 

She hadn't realized his grin was false, his eyes cold emeralds, his kiss as warm as the nights of winter in the North. The face he had shown - and still attempts to show - was only for his Lady Mother. She was a stupid girl, realizing too late how her adoring prince was nothing more than an evil little tyrant, restrained only by his mother until he became King and of age. Now there was no one to stop him, and he married her out of pure spite. Spite that he could not strike her father's head from his shoulders without creating chaos for the kingdom, spite that the Starks knew of his true parentage, spite knowing that to marry her would make her the unhappiest of women in all of the Seven Kingdoms. She was Queen, but she would give anything to be simple Sansa Stark once more. 

Her regret was no more felt than when she was alone in her solar at night with her husband.

It was easier as Queen, to live during the day. Joffrey rarely wanted anything to do with her so she conducted her business without him. She visited the orphanages and distributed bread and coin to the poor - at least, to the poor houses under close guard - and she also attended Council meetings, as Joffrey preferred to mess with his favorite pastimes of hunting and archery. She was learning, it was true, developing her skills as Queen as best as she was allowed. Not even a full month has passed since the wedding but she was already garnering the respect of those around her. Even Cersei has stopped with her snide comments, at least temporarily, and no longer sought her out purposefully to taunt but made it a point to take a moment in the mornings to inquire over her well-being. She knew Cersei did not care one wit for her well-being. Cersei only cared for herself and perhaps she lived in daily fear of her secret being exposed. 

The Lannisters had effectively neutered the Starks as far as that was concerned.

They were making sure House Stark would die out with the passing of Ned.

With Bran in a wheelchair and unable to have children, Arya as a betrothed to a distant Lannister, Robb a member of the Kingsguard unable to take a wife, and the talk of Rickon also joining the Kingsguard when he is of age, the Stark name would die out. No heirs for Winterfell meant the King could seize it as his own property and the Starks would be no more. Sansa suspected there were plans to create an unfortunate early death for her father but she could not yet suss out the source. Sansa as queen meant nothing, at least for now. Any child she would bear would carry the Lannister name, and as long as Joffrey reigned, he would make sure their children had the teachings of the Lannisters instilled in them. Sansa had to admit it was a brilliant tactical move overall... Joffrey's last second mercy on her father showed him to the public to be a generous King while the long-term consequences meant death to all of House Stark.

There was only one obstacle left to clear to complete Joffrey's revenge. 

From their wedding night and every night for the past month, Joffrey has attempted to lay with her, to consummate the marriage and fill her with a son. Though Sansa knew very little of what was expected, she knew enough to know that something was very, very wrong with her husband.

Their first night he demanded she strip and lay on the bed, which she did, all meek and obedient. He had done the same and laid on top of her, but nothing came of it, even after several pushes against her. He cursed her, smacked her, accused her of being so ugly and undesirable that he could not perform, then in a fit of anger he had stuck a finger inside, desperate to break her maidenhead. It hurt but not enough to make her cry out, but he had slapped her anyway for his finger coming out with no blood. When she was brave enough to look at his member between his legs, it was limp, soft. She had watched in horror and a curious interest as he stroked himself, desperately trying to harden, all to no avail. He had left her then, jerking on his robe and storming out, demanding Robb follow him to his own solar, leaving her softly crying more in shock and failure and shame than any physical pain. He visited her every night and the same scenario happened, with some variation. He tried to make her curl her fingers over it to stroke it, or even put her mouth on it, but still... nothing, even though she tried so hard to please him. He was reduced to rages; throwing cups against the wall, using fists to strike her body, and she cried in a growing fear each time. Not for the abuse - she had been abused in some fashion since she came to King's Landing and it was now just a part of everyday life - but for the lack of proof of consummation and obviously no chance to conceive an heir. Perhaps if she had a son, Joffrey would soften towards her. Having her as a barren wife would only make him hate her more...

Her abject shame stood silent beyond the solar door. 

She wondered if Robb hated her for his lot in life; forced to become a Kingsguard and made to stand at his sister's solar at night while Joffrey took his rights - or at least, tried to. Robb had the makings of a fine Lord of Winterfell and a strategic fighter, but he also had the making of a handsome, faithful husband; a fine catch for any highborn woman. Now his potential and his future were wasted as he bowed to a bastard king with resentment in his eyes and stood outside listening to his sister cry while all he could do was remain frozen and helpless. She loved Robb. He was the only comfort in King's Landing, her only true friend. His smiles, his worry over her was sweet balm to the dangers she was exposed to in her everyday life. What little time they had alone - normally her praying time in the tiny godswood where he accompanied her as her guard, or small stolen moments here and there, as a queen was never truly unguarded or without servants - she melted into his hugs, clinging to him, savoring his little kisses into her forehead and his whispered words of concern. He never once laid the blame for their lives in her lap and for that she was grateful, but she still could not help but wonder if Robb, somewhere deep down, despised her for what they had become. Yet the thought left her when he looked down at her with a sparkle and life in his eyes that she could only see when they were alone. It was when his gaze darkened in anger over spotting a new bruise that her fears returned in a different form; one of worry over what Robb might do to Joffrey one night in a fit of rage.

Each passing night brought a less controlled Robb the next morning. Already he was cracking at the seams, and she knew Joffrey was just waiting for an excuse to rid himself of the well-loved Stark. Robb was not only well-loved by those around him, he was a favorite within the entire city's walls and Joff was beginning to see him as a threat. Sansa's panic grew behind her placid mask. Without Robb she would have no love here. Without love she would wilt away and die. She could not live without someone to love, someone to love her. She could not live without Robb by her side.

She needed a child of her own.

Once again she found herself perched on the edge of the bed, waiting for her husband, her heart filled with dread. She was almost numb. He strutted in wearing his red robe with gold trim, slamming the door and bolting it, before flopping down into the high-backed chair next to a small round table, where a servant has thoughtfully placed a flask of wine and two cups, along with the finest of fruits. When Sansa first arrived in Kings Landing, she nibbled happily on lush grapes and strawberries, as such fare was rare in Winterfell. Now, everything tasted like dust.

Joffrey sat there, sprawled lazily in his chair, staring at her with narrowed eyes. She tried not to give her nervousness away as she sat with her hands at her gold nightgown, ready to unlace it. Joffrey liked to see her in gold, or red, the Lannister colors. Her canopied bed was adorned with red covers, pillows, and curtains, the canopy thin layers of gold hanging down with the heavy red damask held back at the posts with thick gold ropes. Only the sheets under the covers were white. They had been red but were changed for the wedding night, to catch her maiden's blood. Proof of consummation was needed to validate their marriage...which frightened Sansa even more. Joffrey could annul their marriage and take another as Queen, and a disgraced divorce would mean her family would be even more open to Lannister hate. Their gossamer-thin alliance would be destroyed and nothing could save them.

"My King -" she swallowed, confused. "I am grateful you have decided to visit -"

"Oh, do shut up. You're prettier when you don't talk." There was rancor in his tone but after suffering for years with him, it didn't phase her. "I like you in Lannister gold."

"You mean Baratheon gold, my King? As you are a Baratheon." 

The words flew out of her mouth without thought and Sansa cringed inside but sat stoic, waiting on his command to disrobe and walk to him. When he sat in his chair he wanted her to try to arouse him with her mouth as she knelt, only to push her away when nothing came of it, usually by pulling brutally on her long auburn hair. It disgusted her, taking his small flaccid wormy thing in her mouth, the soft mushy feel making her stomach churn, but she hid it well -

He surprised her by not commanding her. He didn't even catch her implied snark about his parentage but his cruel eyes narrowed.

"Mother cornered me today after I returned from hunting. She said Qyburn and the Council are demanding proof that I've been fucking you and trying for an heir. The sheets have been clean and it is not acceptable."

"My King, I can -"

"Spare me your offer. You can't suck cock and it's apparent I find your body repulsive. I could fuck you with a poker to spill your maid's blood but that wouldn't get me my heir, would it?"

Sansa suppressed a whimper but remained still. His fingers abused her enough. She could not imagine something made of iron shoved inside of her. His finger was bad enough.

"I could annul our union as quick as this." He snapped his fingers before resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, slouching. "But that would make me appear weak. A failure. I can't have that. Kings do not fail. I do not fail!" His voice hitched. "You know, the whores failed me, too. It's their job and they failed me too. I punished them but I cannot punish you the same way. Mother said it would not be kingly. And I AM the king."

She dropped her hands from her laces into her lap, her eyes demurely lowered while her heart hammered.

"You will be punished. You will suffer just like I am suffering being married to such an ugly thing. But you are going to give me an heir while I break your pride for giving me discourse. You will do good to remember this is all your fault."

Sansa looked up at him in confusion and he smiled sadistically before pushing himself out of his chair. Standing at his full height, he made a flourish with his hands.

"Turn down the bed!"

Quickly Sansa obeyed, fear making her throat dry as she did so, turning down the beautifully embroidered red coverings to expose the white bed sheet underneath, and fluffing the red pillows for a comfort her head would never find. Awkwardly she paused, standing beside the bed, wondering why he did not demand she crawl into it.

"Good! Now sit in my chair."

There was nothing to do but as she was told and Sansa swept into his chair, her hands folding in her lap. He disregarded her as he strode to the door, flinging it open and demanding Robb come inside. Inadvertently her hand flew up as if to close her gown but it was already laced. Robb must have questioned him because Joff grew angry, and Robb swept into the room, his cloak swinging gently behind him. Joffrey quickly disarmed him and Sansa's mind started piecing things together. Her eyes flew up to meet Robb's and she realized then exactly what was happening. His expression showed his puzzlement but there was nothing to wonder about for her as she suddenly dropped her gaze into her lap while Joffrey locked the solar door.

Robb looked so handsome, even in his hated Kingsguard armor. He was always her handsome and gallant prince when they played as children -

She barely heard Robb questioning Joffrey but through the soft roaring of her ears came the King's bark for Robb to undress. For a moment the room started to spin and she closed her eyes, only to open them to stare at Robb, who was staring at Joffrey as if he were insane. She could tell Joffrey was working up into one of his rages and that could mean something even more terrible for Robb. Sometimes she allowed herself to try to think like Joffrey... and Robb was in a precarious position. All the little Lannister shit would have to do is claim Robb stormed into Sansa's bedroom and attempted to kill the King, that is why Joffrey had no choice but to valiantly kill him with his own sword - and maybe he would kill her, too, and blame it on Robb -

"His armor, my King." Sansa felt surreal as she spoke up. "He - he cannot manage it himself."

"Right. Quite right. Well, we don't have a squire, do we, and I can't order one in here without having to kill him afterwards." As if his own idea formed, and not one Sansa planted to save Robb, he leered at her. "You can do it."

Sansa stood carefully and walked slowly over to her brother, trying to avoid his eyes as she made her way to the back to undo the arm pieces. Robb stood as if he were made of stone and she wondered if he was realizing what was truly happening. Maybe he was in shock as he said nothing and didn't even appear to be breathing as she worked on his breastplate. It seemed to take forever as each article was dropped to the floor with a clank. She dared to look at him and he was staring straight ahead, the only sign of stress being the constriction of his neck and clenching of his chiseled jaw.

Robb wore a simple thin shirt and cotton breeches underneath, with his shined boots.

Sansa's hands started to tremble as they made their way to the laces of his shirt. She managed to unlace the first two eyelets before his hands grabbed hers and pushed them away, not unkindly. He still did not look at her.

"Guess your brother can finish from here," sneered Joffrey, who had remained silent through the stripping of armor. His hand still clenched the sword. "Take off your gown, Sansa. Get on the bed."

She dared not hesitate but her fingers felt numb as she reached to untie her laces as Robb clumsily untied his, yanking the shirt over his head and tossing it to to the floor. Sansa glanced at his broad shoulders and muscled torso with vines of chest hair; a contrast to Joffrey's slim, sloping shoulders and smooth chest. It made her feel guilty and she glanced down at her own task while still remaining acutely aware of him unlacing his breeches jaggedly and pulling them off, along with his boots and foot coverings. Panic entered her breast and she swallowed down a sob while she pulled her gown over head. She wore no small clothes underneath so she clung the fabric to her breasts, letting it shield her nudity from her brother as she lifted her eyes to him. Not that it mattered. He was looking at the floor, standing completely naked but stoic. Unlike her, he did not try to cover himself; his arms stayed at his sides, his hands deliberately straight, as to not form fists. Taller than Joffrey, far more handsome and muscular... Sansa's eyes fell to his member, sloping down from a thatch of auburn curls. It was soft, like Joffrey's, but longer and...wider. 

For a moment Sansa wanted to throw back her head and laugh at the comparison and inferiority of her husband and she wondered if she was losing her mind - 

"Get on the fucking bed!" Joffrey's shout startled her out of her moment and she obeyed, suddenly scared as she scrambled up into the bed, sitting up by the pillows, huddling her knees to her chest while covering as much of her as she could with the nightgown. She dared not pull the covers up over her but she looked at Robb, silently pleading with him to look at her -

"You fucking Starks. All about your family. I wanted to kill your traitor father. Putting evil lies in everyone's head. Telling disgusting lies about my Uncle Jaime and Mother. You don't think I hear you two laughing behind my back about incest? How vile it is for a brother and sister from a great House to be fucking each other? How my honorable mother committed incest and cuckolded my father? That I am a child of incest? You think you are so much better? Yes, you Starks always think you are so much better than Lannisters. Don't you think I see the disgusting love you and your brother have for each other? You are no better!"

Joffrey flopped back down in the chair, suddenly calming himself and sighing, pointing Robb's sword at his nether regions. Joffrey always had the ability to rage and calm within moments and it was more terrifying than if he would remain angry. Robb finally looked at her. For a moment she read the dread, the entrapment in his beautiful blue eyes and her hands clutched her gown even harder. Something else flickered there and it made her blood warm and quicken in her veins.

"Ser Robb, consider this a generous action on my part to spare your - and your sister's - life. I could have you both hanged. Instead I am going to get my heir. Can't have my Queen be thrown to a lowly servant to breed, can I? I need proof of her maiden's blood and I need an heir! And if you dare breathe a word, I will hang you both for treason. Though I see -" the underside of his sword tapped against Robb's thigh - "she has the same effect on you so I might hang you after all. You are as limp as a dead fish."

"Your Grace, I just cannot perform on command." Robb's voice was odd. "Might I have a glass of wine?"

Joffrey shrugged and Robb turned his back to Sansa, obviously thinking nothing of exposing his buttocks to her. Sansa sat tense, incredulous, as Robb carefully poured the wine and drank. It was if he was not naked in front of the King, not in his sister's solar in the middle of the night while she sat nude with her gown held to her, and not instructed to take his own sister's maidenhead and get her with child. Indignation swept over her while Robb downed his fortification - while she had none - and talked as if he were discussing the weather. 

"I only ask that we are able to draw the inner curtain for modesty's sake. It would also help my - performance issue if I wasn't watched. Anxiety affects the cock, you know."

"Do I know?" Joffrey appeared to think for a moment. "Yes, yes you are right. Maybe it isn't that she is ugly. Maybe it's the pressure. Just do it. Make her bleed and spill in her. Then dress and leave."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Robb carefully made his tone reverent as he easily poured more wine into the cup. 

"Whatever." Joffrey waved the sword with a flourish before resting it up against his chair and pouring his own glass of wine. "Get on with it."

Robb turned and Sansa backed up as far as she could, now flushed with anger and betrayal as her brother made his way over to the bed with the cup filled with wine. She glared at him, her fear gone, as he handed her the cup. 

"This will help," he offered.

Gingerly she took the cup but didn't sip it as she watched him draw the curtains closed across the bed before crawling inside, effectively shielding Joffrey from view. She could still see his shadow sitting in a chair and she could hear him drink noisily from his cup as his foot tapped the wooden floor with impatience, but at least he also could only see shadowy forms through the draperies. It should have made her more relieved but it made her even more tense, the gravity of their situation striking her. And he had not protested, had not thought to fight, not for her or him. He was so casual. Tears stung behind her eyes as he crawled up towards her and she could scarcely believe how he tugged her nightgown away, his eyes sweeping down to take in her breasts and even lower. 

It was a betrayal to her. He swore to love her, protect her, fight for her, look after her in King's Landing. How dare he be so calm? He stared into her eyes, a face of grim determination.

"Drink, Sansa. It will help -"

Her response was to throw the wine into his face and toss the cup to the side where it tumbled down between the bed and curtain and landed with a soft clanking sound, followed by the sharp slap of her hand against the side of his face. The dark red ran down his cheeks and chin, some catching in his short beard while the rest dribbled onto his chest. Laughter erupted from beyond the curtain while Robb moved swiftly to pull her legs down before grabbing her waist to pull her to him in a lying position. His hands were warm on her hips as he settled himself between her legs and she thought to fight him but remained passive yet angry, thinking he would take her now. She found his body flush with hers oddly comforting but it also made her senses sharpen. She closed her eyes waiting for the invasion but it didn't come. Instead she felt full, warm lips parting hers for a kiss, a heavy breath entering her mouth while a gentle, familiar hand caressed her cheek. She could smell the wine and felt it trickle from Robb down onto her skin, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of sinking down into the pillow when she was already lying down.

His lips moved over to her ear where kissed before he whispered. It sent shivers down her spine and she felt something heating between her thighs.

"I did what I could, Sansa. Please forgive me."

She knew then, how could she doubt him. She felt shamed but found she could not speak, not even a whisper, and she closed her eyes tight when his lips moved down to her neck. The closed curtain and even the cup of wine which she foolishly emptied were the scraps of mercy he was able to extract from Joffrey. They had no choice but he risked Joff's anger for some tiny concessions -

Joffrey coughed and Sansa could hear him digging into the plate of fruits but the thought of him possibly staring holes into the curtain and treating this as some sort of amusing play was instantly dissolved when Robb's other hand smoothed its way down between them to dip between her legs. Maybe she couldn't believe it was happening but she has never been touched like that before - this soft stroking, this circling of fingers around the bump of flesh in her folds - it was something that tensed her whole being in some sort of pleasure. There was a dim sense of wrongness, impropriety in her own brother, her own flesh and blood doing this, but overcoming it was...something good. 

Then she felt him growing hard against her. His member was no longer soft but firm and pressing into her belly. It seemed massive and she wondered how it was supposed to fit inside of her and yes, she was scared. She was petrified but her excitement was growing from his fingers rubbing into places she didn't know existed. For a moment she wondered where he learned such a thing but decided she would rather not know.

Sansa struggled to keep her breathing shallow and quiet but found it difficult when his head bent to take a nipple in his mouth. Joffrey never did more than shove a finger inside and press against her, maybe tried to kiss her a few times. This was something new as well and the wet suction flowed straight down to where Robb was rubbing and like some shameless whore she bucked up, a little whimper tearing from her lips. He pressed a little harder then, a little faster, his head buried against her breasts. She couldn't help but run her fingers through his tousled waves of auburn to press him into her. Her legs maybe parted a little more and Robb took it as an invitation. She felt his finger slip in easily; it didn't hurt like when Joffrey did it, and she felt wetness, and a slick noise came from below as his finger moved, almost with some urgency. 

"Are you done yet? Get on with it, Stark."

Joffrey's voice broke through the feeling but Robb didn't stop; he only slipped out of her to rub back into her folds, this time his finger slick up against her flesh. She felt something building up down in her lower belly; a sort of tightening -

"She needs to be wet or I can't penetrate her, your Grace," he gritted out after leaving her breast to travel up her neck, his finger still moving. 

"Well, make sure you fuck her good and hard. I need that blood on the white sheet." Joffrey's tone held a threat while sounding bored of it all at the same time.

Robb muttered a curse into her neck, so low Sansa barely heard him. Sansa couldn't even care about Joffrey or his voice. She was scared of what had to happen next but the pleasure she was experiencing tempered the fear, even as he built her up to something - something - 

"Um - " she twists her head to the side, trying to bury her face into the pillow as the feeling peaks and she feels something waiting to percolate, her body straining to reach a point that she's not sure where it's going. She feels Robb leaving between her thighs to wrap her legs around his waist with an urgency and they drape over him easily. Instinctively she grabs hold of his shoulders as his hand once again dips down, and there she is back, back at this sensation -

"Ah - Robb -" she forgets beyond the curtain and feels like she's drowning, and he mutters apologies in her ear before she feels it, feels him pushing inside of her. It hurts but it isn't unbearable, not with the pleasure melding with the pain and as he breaks her maidenhead she cries out even though she tries to stifle it into the pillow. It is shock and agony and heartbreak and pleasure all cresting, pushing her into some white flash while she can feel his thrusts, fast, hurried, but careful and he crushes her to him. Her nails dig into him deep, giving back some of the pain, and she feels him bury his face deep into her neck to remain quiet as he spills in her, his thrusts turning deeper and harsh, as if he cannot get deep enough.

She nearly screams when the hot pulsing is done and he pulls out. She's sore and leaking and a mess, but the deed is done. It is then that she feels him shaking and realizes he was just as scared as she, probably even more so as everything, even their lives, relied on him to do this.

Sansa turns her head to find Robb staring down at her, brushing away invisible strands of hair from her forehead. His eyes are a watery blue and he looks grief-stricken, contrite, and she tries to smile but then there are footsteps and suddenly the side curtain is flung back. 

"Get off the bed!" Joffrey cares little for their nakedness as he waves them out. Robb helps her slide off the bed and his arms are comforting. There is soreness in her stomach and between her legs and she winces, trying to stand on weak, shaking legs. It hurts as she scrambles to find her shift, clumsily pulling it over her head and down to hide her body.

"Very good, very good." Joffrey mumbles, glaring down and Sansa can see the delicate streaks of her maiden's blood intermingled with Robb's semen. She wasn't sure what she expected, maybe a drenching of blood from what she always had been told, but the pinkish-red didn't seem like much at all. It didn't even seem real, not even with whatever was inside of her trickling now down her thighs. She was aware of Robb holding her and he also felt unreal. He no longer was just her brother and the feeling was odd. It hurt her heart but her body -

"Get away from her!" Joffrey snarled. “Get dressed and get out! Sansa - get his armor back on! I need to tell Mother and Qyburn to come in and take this sheet away!"

Robb moved away to pick up his clothes but not quick enough and Sansa couldn't help but look at his cock, starting to soften but still semi-hard, glistening with secretions and blood. Her mind tried to process that he had been inside of her, but even with the dull pain throbbing now, she still couldn't fathom it. He dressed hastily, half-tucking in his shirt. Clothing on, he picked up a part of his armor and tried to meet her eyes but she bent her head as she completed the task. It was with some effort that her hands actually worked; they were shaking so badly she nearly dropped the pieces. But under Joffrey's impatient orders, she was able to dress him in record time.

"Your sword, Ser. Return to your post." Joffrey smirked as he handed Robb's sword back to him and Robb bowed as curtly as he could before leaving, not daring to look back. Joffrey turned his mocking to her, looking her up and down. "Raise your shift up to your thighs, Sansa."

She dared not disobey him so she did as she was told, her face flushing. His grin was purely false.

"Look at you, a proud Stark with your brother's cum running down your leg. Your family would be so proud of you. Won't be calling my mother a brother-fucker now, will you?"

"Becoming one does not change who another already is," Sansa retorted before she could catch herself. She received a prompt slap to the face for that and she winced. She remembers a time where he ordered the guards to leave her face alone, that he liked her pretty. Apparently he no longer felt so generous.

"You remember that when you have to look your brother in the eye tomorrow," he taunted. "Then you might also remember your place. Until then, you will go to my chambers to wait on my will."

Sansa knew she was in for more of the same. New bruises would show in the morning and tonight no doubt he would be especially hateful with his verbal abuse as well because of what transpired. It would more of the same, back to the status quo, but as she made her way out of the room alone - avoiding looking at Robb as she passed, for fear of retaliation - she knew it was a pain she could bear.

The ache between her legs and in her heart were a different matter.


	3. A New Proposal

"His Grace needs his rest now, Ser Robb, as well as his brother. It has been a trying day for all, and the wee ones are more susceptible to disruption and change."

The Septa's soothing yet stern voice demanded, not requested, and Robb reluctantly let go of little Prince Robert Baratheon, second of his name. Well, no longer Prince but King. Two years old and he was now the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, a claim that was as delicate as the child's body as his Septa cuddled him in her arms on the way to his royal bed. Beside him in the golden crib lay Prince Joffrey, six months old swaddled in coverings that cost more than a common folk made in his lifetime. Neither child showed any signs of their namesakes, not in either looks or disposition. Both were pale, with russet hair and deep blue eyes and as sweet as the day was long. They had already captured the hearts of everyone at Court with the exception of Cersei; but Sansa used her strengthened position as Queen and mother to the heirs to bundle Cersei off to Casterly Rock with her formidable father in tow under the guise of strengthening the soldiers residing there. Even through her pregnancies and childbirth and recovery, Sansa had made it her focus and priority to unite and prepare the troops in each of the Seven Kingdoms for the impending threat of not just the Dragon Queen but of what lies beyond the Wall according to their bastard brother and Lord Commander Jon. Ironically it was Joffrey who inquired about the dragons while others had scoffed at the idea that they truly existed, and now that it was proven through spies that they did indeed exist, they all needed to rally to protect the Crown.

Robb cared for nothing but the safety of his family.

He dared not linger so he turned on his heel and left, his Kingsguard cloak swaying behind him. The feel of his nephew's warmth still clung to him as tightly as his little hands had curled around the neck of his tunic just before where the armor started. He loved his nephews - he could not bear to think of them as his sons - yet he loathed their given names. Joffrey had picked Robert and everyone had applauded his homage to his late father, but the sneer he threw Robb's way told him the name was meant to hurt, to dig, and it most surely hit its mark. It was the same for little Joffrey. Robb heard later that Sansa had cried and begged for Joffrey to be named differently, even offering up Tywin, but Joffrey had barked at her that he was King and he would name his sons, before ordering everyone out and no doubt reprimanding Sansa with his hands behind closed doors.

Lucky for Robb, Joffrey lost interest in his children once they were taken to the nursery and paid no attention to how the Queen's brother doted on his nephews, spending as much time as possible with them as propriety and custom would allow. He entertained foolish notions of teaching them riding and hunting and sword fighting and assuring that their Stark heritage would not be forgotten or erased. In his mind he named them Eddard and and Benjen, or Eddard and Brynden. Or, sometimes when he felt particularly ridiculous, Eddard and Robb.

Ser Loras stood at attention in the hall, his golden eyes flickering over him. Robb hadn't cared much for the Tyrells overall, thinking them opportunists as they married Margaery to Tommen and eyed for their darling to supplant Sansa as Queen if Sansa had proven to be barren. It was to no avail, as Margaery had died in a hunting accident, being thrown from her horse while she rode alongside Cersei and Joffrey. Tommen was inconsolable even as Cersei schemed the day of Maragery's interment to find him a bride more willing to be influenced by the Lannisters. It was another reason for Sansa to rid King's Landing of Cersei and Tywin; she had grown fond of Tommen and enjoyed Margaery's companionship, and one thing Sansa had not lost was her ability to sympathize with others' grief. Loras had mourned his sister deeply, and even now wore a green and gold band of jeweled roses around his wrist in remembrance. Robb had taken a liking to Loras despite the ambitions of his family, and despite the fact he enjoyed men. Robb found in him a kindred spirit of sorts; a lone wolf hiding a damaging secret in a pit of vipers ready to strike at any provocation. Loras was also more astute than anyone gave him credit for and Robb considered him an ally in not just political but personal matters.

"Where is the Queen?" Robb never thought he sounded natural anymore when asking for Sansa, but he tried after clearing his throat. "I have not seen her since the ceremony."

"She is in the Godswood, last I heard. Ser Jaime accompanied her. I suppose today was particularly draining. It is not every day your two year old son is crowned King."

"My sister has a very able head on her shoulders, Ser Loras. She will serve as Regent until Robert is of age."

"A baby King is politically weak and we know it is only a matter of time. Men see Sansa as only a woman, not fit to serve as Regent. At the very least, they will assert Tommen should be Regent, or even King."

"Aye, they would want someone as Regent that they could sway and mold to their will. I believe my sister has proven she is more than a pretty face or an heir-producing body."

For a moment, Robb considered trying to persuade Sansa to abdicate and return to Winterfell to see Father. Sansa's first action before Joff's body was even cold was to lift their father's banishment and restoring all titles and rights, making him Warden Of the North. Robb imagined Cersei had raged upon hearing that little message by raven but there was little that woman could do. Sansa had the Council's support and the common folk and highborn alike loved her. Compared to Cersei or Joffrey, how could they not?

"The Queen is indeed comely. Motherhood has made her even more curvaceous." Had Robb not already known Loras was not interested in women, he would have readily drawn his sword. Even so, his hand reflectively brushed over the hilt. Loras continued. "You missed the brief Council meeting after the ceremony. It was suggested that Tommen be a husband for her and a marriage should be made in haste for the sake of the realm. Really, it would be a smart match and they do have a genuine liking for each other and if Sansa had no issue Tommen would be King anyway. Sansa did not object, so perhaps -"

"Joffrey is barely in the crypt." He couldn't help the slight growl in his voice. To a passerby it would seem like a defense of the King's memory but in reality Robb did not want Sansa to wed anyone, especially Tommen. Though he was not only a good lad that respected Sansa but he also grew into his looks and was nearly as handsome as Ser Jaime, Robb could not stomach the thought of another Lannister being another husband to Sansa. Or maybe he couldn't stomach the fact that Sansa did not protest the idea being approached.

"Oh, I don't believe there is any mourning on that issue," Loras stated flippantly. "Perhaps Cersei mourns him but no one else is weeping over this I promise you. I would think you would find yourself relieved the mean bastard is dead and not even in a kingly blaze of glory, but choking on a chicken bone during the tournament in his second son's honor. So much irony in it all I cannot even stop from smiling."

Robb's face remained stony. He knew a small detail of Joffrey's choking but remained silent. He would go to his death with yet another secret on his conscience but it was less disturbing than the thought of Sansa in Tommen's bed.

"Come on, Stark, I swear your face will not break if you smile once. There is much to be thankful for. Joff the prick is dead. We are alive. Well, for now. We may be proving our mettle in battles soon but until then let is draw a breath of relief."

Relief.

Robb knew what Loras was saying was true but he could not find it in himself to let his mind have a moment of peace. No, not since after that first night where he was ordered to deflower his own sister. Every night for the past four years he was either spilling his seed in his sister or agonizing over her pregnancies. He had prayed to the Old Gods and the New for a good pregnancy and safe delivery, that the child from her womb would be healthy and unmarred and also a male. Even though his Gods would deem them abominations, he had hoped his pleas would still be heard and mercy granted. He had been a desperate man on his knees pleading with Gods he really did not believe in anymore because Sansa's life had depended on it. Joffrey had threatened them if she brought forth a monster, or a girl; he would expose them and have them and the child killed for incest and treason and find himself a far better Queen. Even after both boys were delivered, Joff only regarded them with thinly veiled disgust before declaring they needed to continue with their nightly duty to provide even more heirs. With an heir and a spare, Joffrey's insistence was merely an excuse for cruelty.

It became less about a child and more about humiliation and degradation; producing two obviously Stark boys who were by all means healthy and adored had enraged Joffrey and Robb's nights with Sansa became more traumatizing to them both as a result of the Lannister bastard's hate. From the announcement of her first pregnancy to the day Joff died, Sansa had become a shadow of her former self. She no longer danced at feasts or laughed at the entertaining fool and there was no longer a flush to her cheeks or a light to her eyes. Although she dressed impeccably as always, her hair dulled and lines formed under her eyes. Even when she was with Robert and Joffrey, her actions were always loving and gentle but her smile was faint and there were shadows in her eyes when she looked upon her children. 

Even more nightmarish was that during their forced couplings, he could no longer make her peak and her stifled cries were no longer of guilty pleasure but of pain and heartbreak and he felt her agony in every tense muscle as he tried his best to finish what he had to do as quickly as he could. It was as if she started to punish him for what he had no choice over. She no longer actively sought him out for scant moments alone to talk or hug in a small comfort but instead distanced herself from him at every possible turn and refused all requests for a private audience. Robb had thought for sure with the swelling of her belly they would be granted a reprieve, but Joffrey still bade him to come into her room and instead of ordering Sansa to lie on the bed he pushed Sansa to her knees and there was no curtain to shield their acts. It seemed her mouth on him was the worst humiliation and betrayal of all for the both of them in entirely different ways: Robb felt his body betrayed him when he always quickly seeded her throat, while he knew Sansa thought he was betraying her by doing so. 

It was this final indignity that prompted him to act.

Robb had been in King's Landing long enough to know who to trust and who to avoid. There was no question of who he needed to approach and he painstakingly made his choice; the wrong one would have easily cost him his head. He felt nothing as he watched Joffrey choke to death, falling out of his chair, clawing at his throat and gasping for air. Through the panic of the crowd he only had eyes for Sansa, her face contorted in confusion and shock but not horror, and there was a sense of accomplishment that she finally felt something other than hopelessness and shame.

Shame.

He knew the feeling all too well.

"Robb?" Loras' voice was soft, almost reflective.

"Loras...will you stand guard for the children? I need to see the Queen."

Loras nodded his assent and looked away while a gloved hand ran through his chocolate locks. Perhaps the adored knight thought it best to not say anything at all. Truth be told, Robb did not trust many around Sansa's children but he knew Loras was to be counted on, so he left his comrade and friend - was it even possible to have a friend in King's Landing - and stalked down the hall, down the stairs and out of the castle, making his way to the tiny godswood. 

Ser Jaime stood at attention, his hand on his sword, at the entrance to the godswood, managing to look both stoic and hopelessly bored at the same time. Robb wondered why Sansa did not order Jaime to follow his sister to Casterly Rock just to be rid of the man but thinking of it from Sansa's point if view it made sense. Cersei has always been an antagonist for Sansa, no doubt in part due to the knowledge Sansa carried concerning her and her brother. Still, along the way, Cersei garnered some begrudging respect for Sansa but now it was best to have the woman gone. And one way to punish her for the past was to cut her off from the only one she really loved besides her children.

Robb wondered for a moment if Sansa would order him away back to Winterfell, to banish their secret, to rid herself of the reminder of how her children came to be. He pushed the thought away as he approached Jaime, noticing how the man was going silver underneath those golden strands.

"Stark." Jaime offered up a half-grin.

"I need to speak to the Queen." It wasn't a request. Now that Sansa was Regent, being her brother brought some clout. Jaime raised an eyebrow anyway and Robb always suspected Jaime knew Sansa's children were not Joffrey's.

"She is at prayer for her dear dead husband," he mocked."But by all means -" he bowed and pivoted, jauntily stalking away as if he were the King himself. Robb wondered why Jaime never had ambitions for the throne. He would have made no worse a king than Robert Baratheon.

Robb hesitantly approached Sansa, who was kneeling, her back towards him, her head bowed as her elbows rested on the stone ledge in front of her, the largest tree hovering over her as she seemed deep into her devotions. Robb knew better; she prayed to neither the Old Gods nor practiced the Seven. She had told him that prayer was useless. No one heard her as she was beaten, as Father was banished, as she was married to Joffrey and isolated from everyone and everything she ever loved. _Even him_.

Sansa wore a dark grey silk gown trimmed in white, her hair perfectly flowing straight down her back. He noticed proudly how she defiantly displayed Stark colors and had forgone the typical style of intricate hair. She looked almost as if she were back at Winterfell, only she traded the wool for silk in this warm climate. Even her simple silhouette was beautiful, almost radiant with the sunlight streaming through the leaves and branches, peppering her gown with brightness. He should feel shame at remembering how good it was to tangle his hands into her silky tresses, or how smooth and supple her skin felt against his fingertips. It had been something good to hold her, flesh against flesh, to hold that small waist in his hands. The swell of her hips was slightly wider now - he could see her voluptuous curve easily against the silk - but he knew how every dip and curve felt. He shouldn't know, but he does. He should hate himself for knowing, but he doesn't.

He clears he throat before speaking. It seems there is a lump there and it remained lodged.

"My Queen. Sansa. May I speak with you?"

He sees her hesitation to rise but she does so before turning to face him. Her face is pale and her eyes dull, blank, and weary. Yet she is still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. He loves her. He always has. Joffrey could never destroy that.

"I would have liked to continue my devotions, dear brother, but I have been on my knees far too much to stay there. What is it?"

Her meaning is clear and it is not like her, but he accepts it. 

"I was told there was a Council meeting after Robert's coronation ceremony and that a marriage alliance has already been discussed."

"Yes." A simple answer while she folded her hands together. "Tommen."

"And you did not decline?"

"Tommen was not there. I could not discuss it with him." She looked him straight in the eyes but Robb dropped his gaze to her slender, pale neck. He had planted so many kisses there in feeble attempts to soothe her. "Is this what you came to talk to me about?"

"You cannot entertain such an idea. He is a bastard of incest just as Joffrey was. He would weaken your claim as Regent, not solidify it. He -"

"My children are bastards of incest as well. They have no right to anything other than death if they are found out." For a moment she panned past him for any signs of approaching people, and her face started to crumple as she did so. She recovered quickly and if Robb wasn't so in tune with her expressions, he would have missed it. "I've become the woman I've despised. I've become Cersei Lannister. But to marry Tommen...it would make sense."

"No." His stomach rolled at the thought of their children in danger. "You cannot marry him. I'd rather you marry our cousin Robert, or even Theon - "

"Theon?" She almost smiled then. "Robb, do have some sense at least -"

"I have more sense than you. You are thinking of marrying yet another Lannister." 

"I am thinking of my children's safety and security. Tommen loves his nephews. He would be a good father to them and they would be raised to be great Kings. I need to think of them, Robb, as well as what is best for the Seven Kingdoms. We have a war, possibly two, coming. We cannot fight and win wars where there is an internal war in the Capital. Tommen is a good man. He would not abuse me, or hit me, or hurt me, or make do - do other things." She looked down then but remained still as a blush crept up her cheeks.

"I cannot support such a union." He felt it then. Jealousy. Envy. Longing. What has Joffrey done to him? What has he done to himself? "I oppose it, should you choose it."

"That is your choice. You are free to leave the Kingsguard and return to Winterfell if you wish. It's been nearly ten years and am sure you want to see Father - "

"Don't you?" He bit it out, stung and hurt. "Do you remember who you are and where you came from? Or are you just a Lannister now?"

"I am the Queen, and I have responsibilities. Obligations. Children."

"And I do not? I have children, too, Sansa." He says it daringly, but low.

"They are mine, and Joffrey's heirs." She turned her back on him then so he could not see her face, and walked back to her stone, sinking gracefully to her knees as he's seen her do many times before. He hated knowing, seeing, aching. "I will see you at supper, brother."

He wanted to rush at her, take her in his arms, plead with her, kiss her, hold her, but even as they were alone in the godswood it would only take one person approaching to see him doing such things even from a distance to spark rumors. Despite how he felt, he could not risk her life or his or that of their children. And she was right. She was not in a position to follow her heart. The worst of it was that he didn't know where her heart even was.

Defeated and feeling like a fool, he formally bowed and turned, stalking out of the godswood with a heavy heart. Somehow, he felt more miserable than when Joffrey had been alive.


	4. A Shameless Interlude

Sansa gripped her hands together in her lap tightly while her question echoed softly and hung in the stale air of the Small Council room. Indeed, her future and the survival hung on the answer to her query, delivered in honeyed tones without a trace of her true lack of confidence. She wondered if her face had been pretty enough to enchant, with the expensive cosmetics shipped from Qarth covering her lines and dark circles from lack of sleep and the rouge adding a beguiling color to her cheeks and lips. Her hair was twisted and piled in the style so favored in the South and she was dressed exquisitely in cloth of gold, a color she had not worn since Joffrey had thankfully died. She almost felt as if she were back in her early days in King's Landing, attempting to shield a pit of lions from pouncing through her inexperience. Though, looking across the table, she knew she had nothing to fear from the ones staring at her.

Except fear of rejection.

"My Sister, I - I have not thought of such a - such a union. I - still mourn Princess Margaery -"

Sansa's stomach tightened at the way Tommen addressed her, even as she started to panic. She swallowed and offered a pretty smile, while reaching across the table to hold his hands, which were clenched together as tightly as hers had been, only his were exposed. She afforded a quick glance at Ser Jaime who sported a slightly amused look with one eyebrow raised, shining in his Kingsguard uniform. The man never seemed to have an unpolished day; not even the day she had sent Cersei away to Casterly Rock. Undeterred, she focused back on Tommen.

"Tom, I know you loved Margaery. I am not asking you to not love her, and I know your heart will carry her always. Life goes on, and so must we." She pretended she was talking to her sons, keeping her tone soft and melodic."You and I are good friends, and family, and I would never ask anything untoward of you. Would it not be far better to be married to your friend, than forced to join with some unknown woman you do not carry affection for?"

Tommen's soft green eyes regarded her almost shyly before they dropped to their hands, no doubt entirely missing the veiled threat of an unsavory arranged marriage. A small smile formed on his full but non-wormy lips (thank all the gods) and Sansa reflected on the warmth and nervousness in it as well as the flush forming in his cheeks up into the hairline of his flaxen mop. Tommen had none of Joffrey's malice or spite even as he looked similar to his dead sibling. He had developed from an overweight, shy child to a well-built, handsome man; married entirely too young to Margaery but now a young man able to make his own decisions. And this decision was one that Sansa had the most at stake in.

"I will always be grateful for you saving me from the window's ledge." His voice was low, throaty, as he recalled what had happened after he was delivered the news of his wife's death. "You have always been a dear sister to me, especially now with Myrcella joining Mother at Casterly Rock."

 _I have not been such a dear sister_ , Sansa thought as her stomach lurched again. _Poor sweet Tom, you do not know what kind of sister I have truly been_.

"You may decline, Tom. I will not force you to marry me. I know what it is like to be forced and I will not inflict that upon you." Though she may do it if he refused, but that is another matter altogether -

"I would not be a husband like Joffrey." Tommen was one for simplicity in words, never learning the art of court flattery or subtlety. He raised his eyes to her and they seemed almost pleading. "I - I would be happy to be your husband, Sansa, and I will be a good one."

Relief flooded her but at the same time there was a feeling of helplessness. Still, Kings and Queens and Princes and Princesses and Lords and Ladies rarely married for love. At least in this she fared better than most, having a genuine liking for her betrothed and vice-versa. Tommen respected her and she knew she could easily persuade him which will prove beneficial in both political and personal matters. He would not abuse her or disregard her and it was good enough. Even so, she would have accepted anything from him as long as her children were secure.

Her gentle squeeze and smile were genuine.

"So, thank you for having me bear witness to this betrothal." Jaime's drawl floated over her, slightly mocking. "When do we announce the happy news to the Small Council, and to the masses?"

"Tomorrow morning, of course." Sansa released Tommen's kind hand and stood up, her hands turning cold again so soon after leaving his warmth. "I do not think a long betrothal is necessary, either."

Both Jaime and Tommen rose with her and bowed their heads in custom before Tommen scurried over to her chair to pull it further out. She smiled her thanks, wondering if she could ever stop seeing Joffrey when she looked at his face. Perhaps in time, she truly would.

Jaime escorted her through the halls to her solar. It was time to retire and she had already bid her goodnights to her sons. Her nightly ritual was her most treasured time, to spend with Robert and Joffrey. She made a firm decision to change Joffrey's name to one more suitable but she was waiting until after her marriage to Tommen to broach the subject with the Small Council. 

"Your Grace, it is a bold move of you to marry yet another one of my nephews. I highly doubt it is the longing for another Lannister to warm your bed that brought you to such a decision so indecently soon after your husband's demise."

"Ser Jaime, I would think you of all people would understand the complexities of alliances and how and why they are formed. Rest assurred, I will be as good a wife to your... _nephew_...as Margaery was." Her tone was light yet searing and her emphasis was not lost on him. The man brooked no shame and instead fired back in a honeyed reply.

"Hmmm. Yes, well, at the very least you would be as good a wife as Cersei was to Robert."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him but he looked straight ahead in faux innocence, jauntily shaking his sliver-toned locks. Handsome, arrogant, sarcastic Jaime Lannister... yet something else laid beneath that facade. He was truly a pompous shit but there was more to the man than met the eye, and Sansa had learned well over the years on how to observe, assess, and process what lies under the surface. It was a learned survival skill and she detected no malice in his statement but rather a concern for the feelings of his bastard son he could never acknowledge as more than a nephew. 

"I can promise you, Ser Jaime, I have the upmost regard for Tommen. He has nothing of his brothers' temperament and he and I have a friendly rapport. I truly care for him and would not risk embarrassment or shame upon him in any circumstance, which is something I highly doubt Cersei could ever claim for King Robert." 

A small smile of relief ghosted his lips but he said nothing and Sansa was struck about how much Tommen favored him when Jaime was caught in a genuine moment. A thought crossed her mind and she calmly folded her hands together in front of her as they continued walking. 

"The betrothal will be formerly announced tomorrow, but I would desire the ceremony to be performed only when Tommen's mother and grandfather are able to be present. I am sure Cersei and Tywin both would be proud of a second Lannister becoming King, although I am sure Cersei will not be pleased to become my mother-in-law once again."

Jaime chuckled and Sansa detected the light sparking his eyes even in the dim of the lighted torches in the corridors. Even now, Jaime still loved Cersei, for all their arguing and doomed circumstances; it was obvious he longed for her and the thought of seeing her once again brought light to his face. A pang suddenly struck her and she almost felt like crying but instead she halted in surprise as they approached her solar, where Ser Loras stood at attention and respectfully acknowledged her presence with a bow. The handsome Knight Of Flowers kept his gaze on her, completely disregarding Jaime. 

"Where is my brother, Ser Loras?" Her tone was even but a small part of her felt panic. It was not like Robb to not be at his post, but lately since the death of Joffrey, he was getting careless and spending too much time with Robert - Robb, she liked to call him - and Joffrey. Her heart could not deny him but her mind knew it to be a dangerous thing; especially since both of them took after their father in looks. She could explain away the color of their hair and their eyes as hers, but the bone structure and build were all Robb. It would not take long for tongues to start wagging as they grew more into their looks.

"Ah, Ser Robb has fallen sick and had taken to his bed for the evening. A - stomach issue that would prevent him from standing at his post for a long duration. Perhaps it was the new cook's style that was not agreeable." Loras avoided her eyes and instead stared down at his tribute bracelet. His demeanor seemed a little off, but Sansa said nothing.

"No need to elaborate, Ser Loras." Jaime grinned; no doubt at the idea of Robb being confined to the privy all night. There was no love lost between the two of them. "Good night, my Queen, I wish you well tonight." He bowed ever so gracefully before pivoting and leaving her in Ser Loras' care, whistling a jaunty tune that bounced off the stone hall wall and faded with every boot step.

"My Queen, I bid thee a Good Night. Shall I send for your maid?" Loras dragged his eyes to the door.

"No, thank you, not for awhile. I think I may tarry before bed. I have quite a bit on my mind and I do not believe sleep will come to me tonight. Would you like to join me for a small drink of wine?" She thought no impropriety in asking. She knew Loras took male lovers and so did the rest of the Court; it was the worst kept secret in the Red Keep. Her reputation would be safe.

"I thank you, my Queen, but I must decline. Spirits dull my senses."

"I understand." She smiled as he opened her solar door, sweeping inside with the grace she had perfected a long time ago as a little girl in Winterfell. 

The door clanked shut and she bolted it from the inside. The tapers had been freshly lit for her arrival and at last she could relax and drop her smile. She needed no maid to free her auburn locks from their confines as she immediately began pulling out pins and carelessly dropping them to the floor. She was tired, drained, and even though her canopied bed should be a welcomed sight, it was not. Despite her defiant change of greys and whites for the hated reds, the bed still brought other thoughts to her mind that were not of sleeping. It was a heartache and pain she lived daily whenever she was near her brother or when she looked into the adoring eyes of her children. She should command a new bed to be made and move to a different solar, one closer to the nursery perhaps -

"Are you returning to gowns of gold and beds of red now, sister?"

Sansa jumped, startled, the front section of her hair hanging down under her cheek. She was not used to anyone in her solar since Joffrey's demise and had not even glanced over to the table and chairs in front of the hearth. Robb sat facing the dark fireplace, hunched over and shadowed by the torches on either side of the mantle. It only took her moments to recover, as she had also learned through the years to regain her composure in a heartbeat before anyone noticed a change. 

"Tommen has accepted my proposal and the announcement is tomorrow." Her hand flew to the low cut neck of her gown. "Why are you in my solar? Are you not sick? I was going to ask Ser Loras to send for the Maester to prepare a concoction to help your ailment."

"No, Sansa, I am not sick." Robb rose from his chair and turned to face her, dressed simply in a grey shirt and dark grey breeches. "Loras agreed to stand guard for the night. I wanted to see you alone and you have been avoiding me on that." 

"I've been occupied," she excused lamely, thankful for the dim light that hid a flush creeping into her cheeks. "Being Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is something of a difficult endeavor."

He approached her, a wine glass in his hand. He was as handsome and strong as ever but when the shadows faded away from his face she noticed how worn he was. Haunted. Affected. Damaged. Just as she was. Yet she could still find the love in his eyes that she knew would always be there, no matter what they were forced to do to survive. He silently offered the cup and she slowly shook her head, to which he drained the contents before sauntering over to place it gingerly on the ornate table. The sound was calm, faint, and for some reason she recalled the clattering of the cup crashing to the floor the first time he had to crawl into her bed...and the slap she gave him after it.

"Robb -" She did not know what to say. She struggled to remember how close they were as children, how he was forever her knight and the ideal of what she wanted in her true Prince. But those childish whims had long since faded. She longed for the comfort of his arms but was too terrified of her other feelings to ask for such a thing. Instead she tensed when he approached her again, this time coming so close she had to tilt her chin up to see him. 

"So it is done. You are to be another Lannister bastard's wife as of tomorrow." 

"No." She had to lower her eyes from his sad expression, concentrating on his rumpled shirt and the exposed chest hair peeking through the loosely laced opening. " _Tommen_ is to be _my husband_."

Sansa almost stepped back from him, not sure what reaction he would display, but to her surprise his hands raised to her intricate hairstyle and he started to slowly pull the pins from her hair. Inadvertently her cool hand pressed into his chest. His heart was beating madly and his skin was warm. It was one of the few comforts she had during their time together...the feel of his naked chest pressed down into hers, the heat emanating from him soothing her cold, shivering body. Strange how the cold of the North never bothered her, yet lying in bed in King's Landing sent chills rippling down her spine; chills that somehow her own brother could calm.

The feeling of his fingers working tenderly in her hair to loosen it from the confines left her confused and longing. It should not be her brother treating her this way. This felt more wrong than any of the nights where Joffrey made them copulate for a child or do other things just for his amusement, but she could not bring herself to move away from his touch. Instead, she pressed her head down into his chest, her hands clutching at his linen shirt while the rest of her combs in the back were released. Somehow, she needed to temper the emotions she was feeling with something more formal, more distant.

"I know you do not like the arrangement but it is not for you to question it. I know what is needed. It is better this way, for the both of us." There was an unspoken acknowledgement at the end but Robb seemed to miss it entirely.

"Yes, better to align with another Lannister. I see the rationale so clearly." Robb muttered it resentfully as she tried to ignore the way his hands stilled in her long locks. "Who knows, perhaps Tommen could return the smiles to your face and a dance to your step again."

Stiffening, Sansa pushed away from him and he released her wavy stands and turned her back on him, hugging her body tight as if to capture his warmth. Of course. Of course he had noticed. Her guilt and shame emerged after the birth of their sons and gnawed at her conscience; at first it was confined to her bed when they laid upon it, but it soon seeped over into every moment of the long days and even longer nights. She could no longer rationalize that every touch, every peak, everything they did was only because they needed heirs, they needed to live, they needed to survive. Any pleasure Robb had wrought from her body was from her desire alone and she deliberately shut down her feelings and shut him out from knowing her depravity. Unfortunately she had been dying emotionally in front of everyone in the Court since and no one was astute enough to see...or care. Or so she thought -

"I love you, Sansa." He spoke quietly but there was a strain to his tone. "I do not want to see you make another mistake -"

"Yes, another mistake. Like I did in believing in my sweet prince. I was a stupid girl then, and I know I am to blame for what happened to Father. Don't think for a moment that I do not live with it every day."

"I never faulted you, Sansa, for anything. But I beg of you, do not do this in haste. Wait until -"

"Until what? Until I can marry for love?" She wanted to be contemptuous but it wasn't in her nature, not when she was with Robb, and for some reason she resented herself for her weakness. "Perhaps I could act as a Targaryen and marry you? Would that be better?"

"Abdicate. Give up the claims of our sons and let Tommen be King. We can take the children to Winterfell - "

She whipped around then to face him. His expression was one of pleading and determination, as if he had lain in bed dreaming up such a scenario. In truth, perhaps she had done so as well, but she also knew how reality killed fantasies.

"Are you mad?" She tightened her arms around her sides. "To do so would arouse suspicion. Robert is King and Joffrey is his heir, and there is no viable reason why I would relinquish their claims. At best I could assign their care to Tommen and I alone could leave, but I am not abandoning my children to this den of snakes."

"If the truth comes out about Joffrey's parentage, the children would be disinherited. No one need know that Joffrey did not father them. You and the children would not be held accountable for Cersei and Jaime's crimes. Tommen would be disinherited as well -"

"And who would be King?" She raised her eyebrows and tried to appear amused but she was inwardly terrified. "Varys? Tyrion? Or Littlefinger, perhaps?"

"I care not who would be King, or Queen. Let King's Landing burn to the ground and that ugly throne with it, for all I care. All that matters is us. The children's happiness. All I have ever wanted since coming to the Red Keep is for us to go home."

"Tommen does not deserve what would come to him if the truth is revealed, nor Myrcella. Robb, please be reasonable. I am the Queen, and I cannot run home like a little girl. If you wish to return to Winterfell, I will relieve you of your Kingsguard post. Then you can once again become heir to Winterfell. Be who you were meant to be...and take a highborn Lady to wife. Perhaps Myrcella? That would truly anger Cersei...all of her children married to Starks."

"I do not want to be married off, especially not to a bastard of incest. You may have no qualms about doing that twice, but I refuse. I would rather be in the Kingsguard serving you and our sons until my death." He clenched his hands into fists at his sides and she could see his jaw tightening. "You cannot just bundle me off to Winterfell and away from you, Sansa, in the hopes that all that has transpired between us will disappear along with my presence."

He knew her feelings, he knew her mind. It was maddening and heartbreaking.

"And you cannot defy your Queen. If I wish to send you away, I can do so. I can call Ser Loras in right now and have you removed."

"Do you know who you sound like? _Cersei_."

Robb rushed to her, reaching out to bring her back to him to crush to his body in a hug. She wanted to shove him away, beat his chest with fists, scream at him to leave, slap him for insulting her with the one woman she hated above all others, or maybe even cry, but all she could do was listen to his hammering heartbeat and press her head into the rise and fall of his chest and mutter the first words that came to her mind.

"You are my brother, Robb. Nothing more or less. You are not my advisor, my husband, nor my lover. You cannot entertain thoughts as such. Returning to Winterfell will quell the memories and give you peace. A family of your own will give you comfort and you can forget all that has happened here."

Her words felt hollow but she spoke them firmly and her heart was truly set. She would send Robb back to Winterfell and marry Tommen and solidify the security of her sons before the wars descended upon them. Honesty forced her to admit if it was offered, she would return to Winterfell with her children without a second thought. The North may grumble that she is nothing more than a Southron Queen, but the older and wiser she becomes, the more she longs for her true home.

"I cannot forget, Sansa, nor do I want to forget." He murmured into her hair, his breath hot on her scalp."I am sorry for the pain you have gone through and would do anything to absolve my part in it. I did what needed to be done to be rid of Joffrey although not soon enough and I have no shame in that. Yet the gods forgive me, there are things I do not want removed from my memory that should hold enough shame to last me a lifetime and beyond." 

She had suspected there was more to Joff's death than met the eye, but as no one else seemed to question and brushed it off as a mere accident so she had not thought much upon it. No one cared that the tyrant was gone even as unease filled the castle about the stability of the Crown. She never thought Robb would be one to orchestrate such a risky plan, one that he could lose his head over if it were discovered. Still, Joffrey had threatened their lives nightly and at some point they had become numb to death being dangled over their heads as their bodies intertwined. Even though her suspicions were now confirmed, all she could do was cling to his other confession of something more dangerous and damaging. 

Gingerly she lifted her head and pulled slightly away from him, leaving a small space between them but still feeling the heat from his body. She dared to look in his eyes; his tortured, shining blue eyes; eyes that never dulled, never darkened when he looked upon her. He was love and trust and faith in her world of deception and cruelty. Even through their forced incestuous union he had made it something bearable, something that even Joffrey in his sadism could not destroy; something she was letting her own self destroy even as her torturer lay rotting in the crypts.

Why should that evil little shit still have jurisdiction over her life? Her feelings?

It was wrong, yes, and she wasn't quite sure if she truly snaked her arms up around his neck to pull him in, but it happened and she kissed him - maybe he kissed her - and it was warm and soft and genuine; slow, not rushed; something sweet and binding, and maybe it was meant as a seal. A pact. One of love and assurance and perhaps she initially only meant a kiss. But without someone's icy stare or impatient comments in the room - the only sound being of their surprised breathing and the only looks being from the lions ornately craved into the furniture - something bold rushed through her, defiant and reckless. She pressed for a deeper kiss, daring to touch his tongue with hers, and it was all it took to find herself lifted into his arms and carried to her bed.

Draperies of the finest grey silk remained tied to posts with white-dyed ropes; no need to draw curtains around them to hide, to pretend, to shut out what was beyond. Her hands did not shake nor did they fumble with her own lacings; it was Robb's hands untying the front of her low-cut gown of gold and tugging it away as if it were nothing, along with her small clothes. Her hands helped with his clothing frantically, as if she expected him to change his mind and stop this from happening. She would have been far more shamed if he denied her now than at any time when he was buried inside of her in front of Joffrey, or at any point where she had swallowed him whole on her knees. 

Now, now she could fully experience his body holding hers, her mind shutting out the mocking ghost in the chair until he was no longer there. Their rush to undress dissolved into slow caresses and long stares; communicating their desires with no more than touches and glances. She could look upon him now and not turn away to hide in embarrassment and humiliation and she did so brazenly, openly. It was glorious to be allowed to feel each kiss upon her tingling skin, to be able to whimper and sigh at the sensation, then being reduced to gasps at the new pleasures rippling through her entire body as his mouth found its way between her legs. The intimacy of his tongue licking through her folds and his lips sucking her little bundle of nerves had her attempting to squeeze her legs together shyly at first, but by the time he had brought forth her peak she had her hands clutching at his head of waves to push him into her even more.

"Robb," she allowed herself to breathe out as she climaxed and then came down from her pleasure. His name felt strange on her tongue laced with lust but it was a small decadence she had never allowed herself to express. "Robb," she gasped out again, this time more insistent, as he peppered kisses up her body to take her in his arms again, returning to those initial gentle kisses.

This time when he entered her and moved inside of her, she did not turn her head away and he did not bury his face into her neck to mutter unintelligible words of apology or curses. He did not move with an urgency to finish, and she did not attempt to block her body or mind from the ecstasy of it all. Sansa savored the pure bliss of his slow, methodically deep thrusts and committed to memory the passion and love shining through her brother's eyes into hers. 

Her second peak was followed by his own; his deep cry resonating through her entire being as he left her womb empty to spill upon the sheets as he leaned down to kiss her soundly.

 

*******************

 

Ser Robb Stark hates all of the Lannisters, but he can at least sympathize with one of them.

His newfound understanding is never more apparent than when he stood in attendance at his sister's wedding to Tommen in his polished Kingsguard armor while a small pain of jealousy slashed at his heart. 

He can still taste her on his lips and feel himself inside of her even though their one true night together was months ago as he watches the Queen and her new King seal the union with a kiss after a cloak of gold and red is once again placed on her shoulders. Only this time the ceremonious act is done with care and gentleness, as if she is made of the finest glass, and the kiss is tender and respectful, albeit a little too long for Robb's liking. 

_I will not be Cersei Lannister. It is too much risk and I cannot defile my marriage as she did hers. We are not the Lannister Twins _.__

____

The latch of her cloak does not stay and the robe falls to the floor. 

____

Sansa does not move to retrieve it but Tommen does with abject apologies.

____

The celebrations after are the usual fare and Robb mulls around, keeping his eye on the newly married couple. Robert and Rickard (he could have kissed everyone on the Small Council for approving the name change) were not in attendance due to their age. Robb made a mental note to visit them once he was able to excuse himself, but in the meantime struck up polite conversations while watching Sansa and Tommen dance a few rows for their adoring Court. Sansa's cheeks are flushed and she smiles prettily.

____

Robb is distracted and pulled out of his jealousy when he sees Ser Jaime with his sister. To the unknowing eye it is an exchange of pleasantries between siblings but Robb sees the love and longing which is far from brotherly and sisterly. There is fire as well; want, need, desire. They leave the celebration within fifteen minutes of each other, only to return after awhile the same way. Ser Jaime is more jovial then and Cersei actually smiles, for all that this day is a terrible one for her. The twins' secret could have brought down the entire Kingdom, yet here they are, still loving each other as much as they dared. Robb wondered if Jaime felt as he did when he visited Sansa before she dressed for the wedding. They said very little but she allowed him to kiss her before she wrenched free and distanced herself from his arms.

____

_They say Cersei fucked Jaime on her wedding day. I will not be a Cersei_.

____

No, Sansa is not a Lannister.

____

She may dance with a Lannister and bed one tonight and remain faithful, and perhaps even bear a Lannister in nine months' time, but she is a Stark. For now, she may lie in a bed of red and dress in gowns of gold, but it is only a matter of time before the shades of grey and white call them all home. Sansa, him, and their children.

____

He catches Sansa's eye and he knows she's been deliberately avoiding seeking him out. He understands and he forgives as she flashes him a beautiful smile. The same smile she gave him when he told her he would remain in the Kingsguard as long as she was Queen.

____

He doesn't mind the gold armor and white cloak now. 

____

It is only temporary.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
